6. Isla
CHAPTER 6
ISLA
Mornings used to be predictable. At six a.m., I’d wake up, shower, drink coffee, check emails, get dressed, go to work, and plan the day ahead.
But now? Now ? Chaos. Controlled, scheduled chaos—but still chaos.
By seven a.m., I was already running late. I hadn’t even left my apartment yet, and my phone was blowing up with messages, email notifications, and missed calls.
Who called people before seven in the morning? Monsters. That’s who.
It was fair to say the renovations and redesign of The Grand had become my life.
I was wedged between my usual workload of managing high-end events, handling clients, and making sure my client list didn’t fall apart while Elixir pulled everyone to it. Event planning was a full-time job, and then I took on this massive project. I thought it was a great idea at the time—and it was —but I realized very quickly it was harder than I thought.
The demands on my time were constant.
Gerard Fitzsimmons’ demands were constant .
I glanced at the clock and saw it was already ten past seven. Shit. But I also knew that if I didn’t have at least one more mug of coffee someone was going to suffer. Okay, I was going to suffer if I was caffeine deprived, but that didn’t mean anyone else was safe either. I grabbed a travel mug and filled it to the very brink of what was permissible before screwing the lid on tight. I checked my phone again.
Another text from Gerard. I flipped the lid on the travel mug and took a huge gulp, hissing at the burn. I’d need to get a refill on the way to work, I reasoned as I shoved my phone into my blazer pocket, grabbed my keys, and left my apartment.
I made my first call of the day in the car. Pete was the hotel’s project foreman, and I had already anticipated why he called me before seven.
“Isla?”
“Hey, Pete,” I greeted, trying to be bright and cheery even if it was seven fifteen. “I have a missed call from you?” I had four, but let’s not be aggressive. Reaching over, I picked up my travel mug and took a drink of the black nectar that would soothe me.
“Did I wake you?”
That was how my Aunt Veronica sounded when she would ask me at Thanksgiving if I definitely liked men.
Every. Single. Thanksgiving.
Since I was twenty.
“You’re sure you like men, Isla? I don’t know why you would be single when you’re so pretty. It’s okay to like girls now , you know. Do you? Do you like girls? Is that why you don’t have a man? Or a girl?”
“If you were worried you woke me, Pete, at six forty in the morning, maybe you don’t ring someone another three times before seven.”
“Um…”
“Oh my gosh, Pete!” I snapped, desperately pawing for my travel mug. “You rang me four times, don’t get speechless now. What is it?”
“Can you come by the site?” he asked, and I knew he regretted calling me. “There’s an issue with the ballroom flooring. I need your approval on the changes before I order it.”
My irritation gave way to exasperation. “Changes? What changes?”
“Mr. Fitzsimmons asked us to?—”
“I’ll be there in twenty. Do not change one thing until I get there.” I hung up.
If Mr. Fitzsimmons changed one more thing, I was going to walk. A few weeks ago, when we discussed my proposal that day in the conservatory, Gerard said he wanted me to manage the project with complete control.
I didn’t know why I believed him then. I didn’t know why I believed him now. The following three times, he overruled something and told me he wouldn’t do it again...and did.
I didn’t care that my travel mug was half full. I still swung by the coffee shop and got a large black coffee, pretending I didn’t see the judgment as I poured half of it into my travel mug, tossed the lid in the recycling, and drank from the to-go cup.
After I parked at The Grand, I headed inside, waving at the concierge as I rushed upstairs to the ballroom. The scent of sawdust and fresh paint followed me as I walked from the hotel lobby down the corridors. Every main room was being overhauled. Fitzsimmons had told me funds were tight, but we were doing a huge, full-blown renovation, and I was so far out of my wheelhouse; I was glad Julian was dropping in “casually” every other day to check in on everything.
I couldn’t admit I was treading water but sinking anyway. I had talked Gerard Fitzsimmons into this; he added more, I’d protested, and he questioned if I was changing my mind. I’d stopped protesting.
This renovation was going to be everything . I knew it would be.
As I hurried to meet Pete, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill as I saw evidence of our work coming to fruition. In the ballroom, the scaffolding reached up to the high ceilings, and protective plastic hung like ghosts from the old art deco decor. We wanted to preserve as much as possible while incorporating it into the fresh and new. Plaster was exposed and waiting for the walls to be treated, yet the bones of The Grand remained strong and sturdy. And stunning.
This was going to be the venue in Gracemont. This would be the place that could rival Zayn’s club. It might not top his nightclub, but it would be a strong contender.
Pete saw me and made his way over, his expression grim. “So…we’ve got a supply issue,” he began, tugging on his beard. “The white marble tile with silver accents you wanted is back-ordered. By six weeks. We can wait, but it’ll delay the completion.” He raised his arm, showing me a small black square tile with a gold flourish. “This is in stock, ready to be delivered, and they’re willing to give a ten percent discount.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Fitzsimmons says order it.”
I closed my eyes briefly as I counted to five. Six weeks? I had two . Three at most. “Alternatives?”
“You liked the polished oak.” He turned the tile over in his hand. “This is nice. No?”
“No.” I winced. “Sorry, I’ve got a busy day.” Rubbing my temple, I looked at the tile. I saw it perfectly laid out in the floor of Elixir. “We can’t take this. Wood? We ruled the wooden flooring out because it didn’t match the aesthetic.”
“It’s a dance floor,” Pete argued tentatively. “Does it matter?”
“Of course, it matters.” Frowning I held my hand out and he placed the tile in it. “They only do black or white?”
“Gray, navy blue, maybe pink.”
I had been scanning the walls and the repair to the ceiling cornices. “Gray? Light or dark?”
Pete shrugged. “Gray.”
The man was a project manager and had no eye for design. It was astounding. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was seven forty-five.
“I have a client meeting at nine thirty…” I mused. I made the decision. “Order nothing, gimme.” I gestured to the tile. “I’ll make a run past the supplier before my meeting, see what they have.” I looked around the room again. “The floor needs to be light to catch the light from the high windows,” I muttered.
“I’ll tell them you’re coming.”
“Thanks!” I was already halfway to the door.
“Mr. Fitzsimmons is looking for you!” Pete called after me.
“He can keep looking,” I muttered as I headed back to the car. Checking my watch, I did the math. I needed forty-five minutes to get from one side of town to the other. I had time to visit the suppliers, look at tiles, change the shipment if possible, and attend my meeting with an established client about an upcoming charity gala.
A charity gala I wanted to host in The Grand’s ballroom.
Thirty minutes later, I was using the employee entrance into the tile supplier warehouse as it was still too early to be open for business.
“Isla?”
Turning, I was met by a stocky older lady. “Hi.”
I didn’t like the way she looked me over, but I kept my smile friendly. “Pete told me you were coming,” she said, already turning away. “This way.”
As I followed her, I glanced down at my sleek navy dress and cream blazer, checking for dirt or anything that might have warranted the look she’d just given me. Self-consciously, I ran my hands over my hair, ensuring it was neat and professional. I preferred wearing my hair in a sleek high ponytail for work, but today I had left the natural curl in, enjoying the bounce as I walked. It felt playful... God knows I hadn’t felt playful in weeks. I appreciated how the side parting softened the sharp style, allowing a loose section of hair to fall over one side of my face, just long enough to tuck behind my ear. The style was polished yet casually elegant, but I wondered, after the look she gave me, if it wasn’t too playful.
“As I told Pete,” the woman said with no preamble, “it’s backlogged. Six weeks.” She pointed to the pile of black tiles. “We have that, which is ready now.”
“Which is also leftovers from the renovation in Hardgate, right?” I asked her, watching for her reaction. “Which you’re offering for a discount when Elixir would already have paid for most of this and not used it.”
Her hard stare didn’t phase me at all. “It’s ready to go.”
I smiled. There was no warmth in it. “What else have you got?” I saw the display of different flooring behind her and walked over to study them. The light gray was lovely but flat. A reason I’d rejected it the first time. The navy tile drew my attention; silver veins ran through it like the promise of stars just beyond twilight. I heard my own argument to Pete earlier about the light catching the flooring, which was why I had wanted the white, but this…this was so pretty with enough silver veins to catch natural daylight.
“There’s no discount on that.”
What the hell was this woman’s problem with me?
“Our order is for the white tile, which you told us you could supply in two weeks. Now you can’t. We bought and paid for an order you can no longer fulfill within the desired timeframe.” I pointed at the pile of boxes housing the tiles. “That will do.”
“It’s more expensive.”
“Like I said, my client will accept your gracious discount.” I watched her eyes narrow, and she was about to protest, but I kept talking. “I will be sure to let my friend Julian Turner at Turner and Shepherds Architects know how smooth it is doing business here. As well as the main contractors doing The Grand’s renovation.” I checked my watch. “Word of mouth is the best form of advertising, don’t you think?”
She held my stare for a long moment, and then, with a muttered curse, she mumbled about amending the paperwork.
Twenty minutes later, I was in the car heading back to town. I called Pete from the car.
“Hey, it’s Isla,” I said in greeting. “The new floor tiles will be delivered today.”
“Today?” He sounded resigned. “Isla, I’m not ready for them today.”
“It’s today or nothing.” Checking my mirrors, I turned onto Gracemont’s ring road. “What is wrong with that woman who works there? She was meaner than a snake in a sack.”
“Ah…that’ll be the missus. Ex-missus.”
I was glad he didn’t see my eye roll. We said our goodbyes, and I called Gerard next, telling him I had fixed the flooring problem and assuring him he hadn’t incurred any further costs. With twenty minutes left, I concentrated on getting to my meeting on time, which was the official start of my working day, and I already needed a refill of coffee.
When I arrived, the corner coffee shop was already bustling. Lyndsay Shaw, one of my most important clients, was waiting at a corner table, sipping an oat milk latte. She was the kind of client who could make or break me—she was high society, had deep pockets, and was a perfectionist to the core.
Lyndsay glanced up as I approached, waiting until I slid into the seat across from her. “Tell me you have good news.”
An untouched Americano was waiting for me. I smiled as I took my notebook out of my purse. “I have good news. The ballroom of The Grand Gracemont will be ready in time for your event, and I’ve also secured the catering from Rich Cuisine.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Thank you.” I tipped the cup her way. “Your guests will love it.”
She ignored my thanks and assurance. “Let’s discuss the menu. I changed my mind about the salmon.”
Thirty-five minutes later, she was standing over me, ready to leave. Lyndsay studied me for a moment. “I trust you, Isla. Are you sure you can handle this and the work at The Grand?”
“Absolutely.” Did she doubt me?
Lyndsay nodded once. “Don’t disappoint me.”
Well…no pressure then.
By the time I got to the office, it wasn’t even noon, and I was ready to drop. I had notes on the changes Lyndsay wanted for the menu. She had also changed her mind about an ice sculpture, which was going to be a freaking nightmare in the midst of summer. As I opened my laptop, I was already calling up the company I’d used before, ready to place an emergency order for an eight-foot ice sculpture of a cat playing a fiddle—because if we were going to make an impression for an animal shelter, we might as well do it with style.
My to-do list had grown longer instead of shorter, and knowing I would spend the afternoon on back-to-back calls, I ordered a sandwich.
A few hours later, I sat back in my chair, my pen lingering over the notebook beside me. I’d dealt with the cake vendor for the Youngs’ christening. Then, it was a new color scheme for the bride who emailed yesterday to say she hated the color scheme she picked six months ago. So now, instead of teal and cream, we were going with pink and lilac. The barn wedding theme was “so last year,” which, as an event planner, I knew was “so not true.” But I did so few weddings now, and this one was a favor to my work colleague, so I bit my tongue and did what any good event planner did. I went through the motions but didn’t implement anything as I knew she’d change her mind again.
My phone rang, and I answered it without looking. “Isla Wells speaking.”
“You eaten?”
I smiled as I heard Julian’s warm voice.
“I had a sandwich.” He was checking in. He did it when he knew I had a full plate.
“You had a sandwich? Or you ate a sandwich?”
I eyed the sandwich wrapper on my desk, and the food inside was untouched. “I ordered a sandwich.”
The technicality didn’t fool him. “Unwrap your chicken and bacon wrap, Isla,” Julian mock-scolded me. “Take a bite.”
Putting the phone on speaker and rustling the wrapper right beside the earpiece, I grinned as I heard his yell of protest and took a huge bite of my wrap. “Mmhmm.”
“How is your day so far?” he asked as I chewed.
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Liar.”
I swallowed. “Fine. Barely fine,” I amended. “I’ve been running around since seven, and I still have to check back in at the hotel before heading to a venue walk-through later.”
“You know you have nothing to prove, Isla. Right?”
I closed my eyes for a second. We’d had this argument for several weeks. “I’m not trying to prove anything.”
It was about making sure that prick Zayn McCabe knew I didn’t need his club to be successful in my job and keep my clients satisfied.
Julian sighed. “Isla…”
“I’m not trying to prove anything to him .”
“Ugh…” He groaned. “Just…just don’t burn out, okay?”
Midafternoon, I was back at The Grand, double-checking the ballroom dimensions for Lyndsay’s table layout. Her gala would be the first one to be held in the newly renovated hotel.
So much depended on this. So much.
“Pete, when do the chandeliers arrive?” I asked without looking up from my notebook.
“Day after tomorrow,” he said, his voice tight, making me look up. He was on the floor, his back to me, as he wrestled with a box of wires.
“Do I want to know about the box?” I asked him with amusement.
“Not unless you want me to answer impolitely,” he said as his fingers ran over the countless knotted cables.
I couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped me, but when I saw the glare, I knew it was best to leave the man alone with his knots. “I’ll be in the conservatory.”
He grunted, and I knew it was definitely time to take my leave.
Gerard brought me a coffee on the pretense he was being courteous, which turned into a thirty-minute “debate” about the new color of the ballroom flooring.
I won.
Yes, it was his hotel, but he’d given this project to me. He’d trusted me. I just needed to keep reminding him of that.
I left a little later, promising him we were on schedule and I had everything under control, and hoped I wasn’t tempting fate.
The walk-through at the boat club in the next town over was quick and simple. The view over the lake was pretty, and the client’s requirements were basic but functional.
By the time I finally walked through my front door, exhaustion weighed heavy on me. I kicked off my heels, tossed my blazer on the chair, poured myself a glass of wine, and collapsed on the couch.
My phone vibrated with a new text message. I contemplated leaving it, but thinking it was Julian, I got up and fished it out of my purse.
You work fast, Isla.
I frowned, staring at the screen, the number unknown.
Who is this?
Three dots appeared.
You already know.
A chill ran through me.
Zayn.